


You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby

by myotinae



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Butch/Femme, Enemies With Benefits, F/F, Female Akechi Goro, Female Persona 5 Protagonist, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Swearing, and nothing of value was learned (unless...?), discussions of incest (please see work note on this), homophobic and misogynistic slurs, the kids are different genders the adults are not, the performance of femininity or lack thereof, the pervasive spectre of gendered violence, this fic does not endorse morrissey; i too wish i'd fallen in love with a different title, violence and violent thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21562504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myotinae/pseuds/myotinae
Summary: The infuriating thing, though, is that she just honestly can’t tell what Kurusu does think of her. Sometimes it feels like Kurusu only remembers she exists when Goromi’s right in front of her, even though everyone in the damn country thinks about her all the time. (Thinks about her, wants her, photoshops her face onto gravure idols, tries to follow her home when she doesn’t take a cab -- she wanted all this, but maybe she doesn’t anymore, maybe it’s getting a little old. Knowing that she’s secretly the scariest bitch in Tokyo isn’t nearly as reassuring as it used to be.)In which Akechi attempts to keep her priorities straight.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 20
Kudos: 178





	You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> For Ella, with love.
> 
> This repeats some ideas from [my other akeshu fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837981/chapters/34343222) but not all of them and is comparatively a little less heavy; I mention this largely because if you read this and think “this fic seems like self-plagiarism” you are absolutely right, but I promise it’s on purpose. Also: I’m not sure Goromi is actually a real name - certainly it’s not a common one - but from what I could tell there are very few Japanese given names for girls that even start with G sounds and I had to name her _something_ , so please forgive me. (Clearly what happened is Mama Akechi was expecting a boy and panicked.)
> 
>  **Please note:** this fic does NOT contain any actual incestuous acts but Shido is still a predatory straight man, as in canon, and the implications of that are very explicitly acknowledged here. Please don’t read this if it will cause you pain or discomfort. Thanks!

Goromi Akechi thinks of herself as an actress. A star, walking the carpet, so good at smiling for the camera that it’s not forced anymore. A motherfucking heroine. Her father thinks of her as a walking orifice.

Not that she’d let him fuck her, she’s not that goddamn far gone, but she knows what men are like. Has known what they’re like since she was a child, of course. Her mother said, not long before she died: you need to know this, you need to be ready. Goromi didn’t understand at the time, but she did later. She and her mother are the same, Goromi thinks sometimes. Her mother died and her pain just went into Goromi’s heart and never left. She likes to think that’s where Loki came from, that he was incubating in there. It’s all a tangle of metaphors, anyway, why not add some of her own?

Or, well. That’s not all she is for her father. She’s something he almost respects, too. She can see it in his face, sometimes: she is the closest he has ever come to respecting a woman. It’s kind of hilarious, if you think about it in the right way. _All you had to do to keep him, Mom,_ she privately tells her sometimes, _was drive his enemies to madness or braindeath. Just indirectly flip a train or two, it’s not nearly as hard as you’d think. You don’t even have to feel that bad about it if you don’t want to._

Goromi’s not entirely a bad person, probably, it’s just that plenty of people deserve to die. She includes herself in that, of course, but her father is the pinnacle, someone who needs far worse than a nice quick metaphysical pop in the head. And Goromi’s cleaning up trash on the way up, getting some accolades as well-- which she doesn’t exactly have, not right now, not at the moment, but those will come back, she has to believe in that. It’s part of the plan. All this shit with Medjed is entirely on purpose; she just needs to stick it out without further embarrassing herself.

And in the meantime: they haven’t kicked her out of Leblanc yet.

One Sunday afternoon, while Akie Kurusu is working the counter, Goromi says, conversationally: “Is it rehabilitation or punishment, would you say?”

Kurusu had been quietly cleaning one of Sakura's arcane coffee machines, but she turns at that, looks at her through her stupid fucking almost-definitely fake lenses and says, “What are we talking about?”

They hadn’t been talking about anything, of course. Goromi normally doesn’t linger when Kurusu’s around, but there’s… something about the atmosphere of this place that always makes her want to, her packed schedule be damned. And she is sort of getting really behind on schoolwork. Even the _teachers_ have changed their minds about her recently, thanks to this Medjed shit; she’s lost a lot of goodwill. So she’s spent the afternoon quietly trying to do calculus homework at the counter, while Sojiro Sakura lectures a stone-faced Kurusu on coffee beans, no talking cat in sight. (Goromi used to think Sojiro Sakura had to be an absolute creep for wanting to take in a delinquent teenage girl, a blatant scumbag, but he actually seems pretty okay. She has a good instinct for these things. He doesn’t even look at _her_ tits, and she’s much more clearly a girl than Kurusu is.) And then Sakura went out on a cigarette run, so now they’re alone, and the silence had been unbearable until Goromi broke it.

The bitch knows what Goromi’s talking about, obviously, but of course she doesn’t let on, she’s not a Sakamoto-level moron. Goromi says, “The Phantom Thieves, of course. ‘Changing hearts’. What else would I mean?”

“You’re kind of obsessed, you know,” Kurusu says. She has the stupidest haircut Goromi’s ever seen in her life, too short but somehow also constantly in her eyes, made worse by the fact that she either styles it to look like a bird’s nest or allows it to look like one organically. (Given her general demeanour, it’s likely the latter.) Admittedly, Goromi’s own haircut has certain… similar features, but she spends a lot of time and money on that shit, picked it out of a magazine and everything. Kurusu’s hair makes her look like a boy, and combined with the glasses it entirely overwhelms her features, those wide cheekbones, those sharp eyes. It’s a waste.

“Being a little obsessed is my vocation,” Goromi says, and smiles, sweet and symmetrical. “May I be honest with you?”

“Sure,” Kurusu says, without a hint of enthusiasm.

“I’m trying to reconsider outside perspectives. Be more open.” Or get better at faking it, so I can stop being a punchline for a while. “I’m sure you grasp why. And I understand you consider yourself a bit of a-- would you say ‘fan’? Aficionado?”

“Bit strong.”

Does Goromi not even warrant full sentences? “So I simply wished to hear how you conceptualise the general idea of changing someone’s heart. Let us set aside any implications associated with how this might be accomplished, for now. Let’s pretend it’s entirely through fantastic methods.” Ha ha. “What is the ultimate purpose, ideologically?”

A thoughtful pause, as Kurusu cleans a mug. Then she says, “All I think is that the Phantom Thieves wouldn’t have to do anything if you guys were better at your jobs. No offense.”

That isn’t an answer at all. Goromi wants to shake her. She rests her chin on her knuckles and keeps smiling and says, “You really hate answering direct questions, don’t you?”

“I’m a terrible conversationalist,” Kurusu says agreeably. “It’s one of my many charms.”

“Clearly,” Goromi says. Kurusu isn’t funny -- Goromi’s not even sure if she’s ever trying to be -- but something about this turn of conversation has made Goromi’s smile creep a bit closer to genuine; she checks herself, makes sure both corners of her mouth are still lined up.

But then Kurusu smiles _back_ , just a little. It’s startling. Goromi’s never seen her smile so close before; it makes her face light up, makes Goromi’s chest feel a little tight. “Hey, by the way,” Kurusu says, as if she’s just remembered, “do you want to see a movie with me sometime?”

“I,” Goromi says, stupidly. “You’re asking me?”

“You are literally the only person here right now.”

What is she doing? Is this some bizarre kind of ploy? “You seem like you have plenty of friends. I’m sure they’d be happy to go to the movies with you if you asked.”

Kurusu frowns slightly. “Yeah, but I’m asking you. You’ve seemed…” She pauses for a moment. Tilts her head to the side, like a goddamn puppy. (No. Like a predator, listening.) “Stressed.”

No fucking kidding. Goromi remembers abruptly that she’s supposed to be drinking her coffee, that that’s a great way to give herself a moment to think. A long, deliberate sip, and- what’s the worst that can happen? She wanted Kurusu’s attention, didn’t she? This is a great opportunity that she absolutely can’t just miss out on because Kurusu makes her feel a little weird sometimes. “All right, why not?”

“Cool,” Kurusu pronounces. And then doesn’t say anything else. Just goes back to quietly wiping dishes clean.

“Did you,” Goromi prods eventually, “have any kind of timeline planned?”

“You’re the super famous detective. When are you free?”

When _is_ she free? Tonight, actually, but Goromi definitely needs more time than that to process the fact that she’s going to the movies with her intolerably peculiar second-worst enemy, as if they’re friends, as if Goromi is an entirely normal person who does things like _go to the movies_. She says, demurely, “Give me a moment to check,” pulls out her phone, pauses to try to match her phone calendar with her mental schedule of her less savoury upcoming tasks. Shido needs her to take care of-- but that won’t be hard, certainly--

“Wednesday?” she finally says. “Any time after four.”

“Wednesday after four,” Kurusu repeats. “Cool.”

“Did you have a particular film in mind? Or venue?”

“What do you like?”

Goromi doesn’t like a lot of things. Sometimes she tells interviewers she likes detective films she hasn’t seen -- ones adapted from books, ones that came out decades ago, since that impresses old men -- because the actual answer is perhaps not particularly appropriate for her image. It’s not appropriate for how she wants Kurusu to think of her, either, so she says, “I don’t have time for movies, really,” which is more or less true. She can’t remember the last time she was in a movie theatre.

“That’s depressing,” says Kurusu, who dedicates far too much of her spare time to doing nothing with her friends, from what Goromi’s seen. It is immensely frustrating to have a secret nemesis who’s this fucking lazy and still keeps succeeding at making Goromi’s life much more difficult than it ought to be. Goromi works her ass off every single goddamn day--

“Any goal worth reaching requires work and dedication,” Goromi says serenely, and finishes her coffee. Feigns checking her watch. “I’m afraid I must be going, Kurusu-san. Why don’t you pick something out for us? I’m curious to see what you’d choose.”

“Okay. I’ll text you. I do need your info for that, though.”

“Ah. Of course.” Is this-- this has to be something, right? Should Goromi be worried? But… no, Kurusu can’t know anything, Goromi is completely in control, she’s just being paranoid. And normal people aren’t peculiar about texting other people. She jots her number down in her notebook, tears out the page. Says, as she hands it to her, “I’m trusting you to keep this to yourself. I’d rather not open myself up to more harassment.”

Kurusu’s fingers brush against Goromi’s as she takes the paper. They’re weirdly cold. She looks down at it without a speck of visible interest and says, “I’m not an asshole, Akechi. Don’t worry.”

“I’m sure you’re not.” That’s entirely a lie from Goromi -- she can’t stand the Thieves’ righteousness schtick, how judgemental they are, how they think they know exactly what’s best for everyone -- but she does actually believe that Kurusu isn’t going to turn around and post Goromi’s contact information on the Phantom Thieves Aficionado site within the hour.

Kurusu looks up. Looks Goromi right in the eyes, steadily, unnervingly. Does she look at everyone like this? How do her friends tolerate this on a regular basis without melting? Goromi wants to look away, but she would never forgive herself if she did, which means she’s in a weird staring contest now.

And then the bell over the door chimes, and old Sakura is back, making some apology to Kurusu for having taken too long, so Goromi takes the time to pack up her things and casually, gracefully get the hell out of there.

* * *

So. Goromi Akechi is seeing a movie with Akie Kurusu.

Maybe. Possibly. The thing is, Kurusu keeps not texting her, and while Goromi could probably find Kurusu’s number fairly easily if she put her mind to it, that would likely put up a massive red flag for Kurusu, so it’s not really an option. She spends Monday worrying about this, most of Tuesday glumly convinced that either she wrote her contact information wrong or Kurusu smelled a metaphorical rat. Or perhaps she just forgot, or never meant it sincerely in the first place. Not that it matters, anyway. Not really. It would just be an interesting diversion.

At 10:03 p.m. on Tuesday night, though, her phone buzzes.

 **Unknown Number:** akechi?  
**Goromi:** Who is this?  
**Unknown Number:** akie kurusu  
**Unknown Number:** from leblanc  
**Goromi:** I see. I do remember who you are, Kurusu-san.  
**Unknown Number:** i’ll bet  
**Unknown Number:** so tomorrow night there’s an old heist movie playing in shinjuku and some new horror thing in shibuya  
**Unknown Number:** pick one

A heist film is extremely on the nose, but Goromi’s not particularly keen on horror, finds the genre kind of pornographic, so she doesn’t really have much of a choice, though something scary might have… advantages. But there’s no way Kurusu is secretly one of those flinching arm-grabbers, is there? Goromi can’t even imagine it. Maybe she’d have to be the one who acts like a baby over it. Maybe it’d actually be a really good cover if she ever fucks up. ‘There’s no way Akechi’s a killer, she is _so_ scared of monsters!’ No, that’s humiliating, and probably wouldn’t work anyway. Never mind.

She says yes to the heist flick, gets a time, spends a bit too much effort trying to work out whether there’s any enthusiasm behind Kurusu’s tepid-seeming “ _cool see you then_ ”. Stares for a while after that at the pictures on Andy Takamaki’s Instagram from the Shujin Hawaii trip, he all glistening American (or whatever) muscles and little Kurusu in a cheap-looking blue and white one-piece. Goromi thought, once, that they made bizarre friends, the taciturn slouching criminal and the flashy foreign model, but Kurusu has such a lack of self-consciousness that they always look oddly comfortable together in photographs. Goromi looked like an absolute fool in pictures before she learned how to be pretty.

Goromi puts her phone away, lets her hands wander down, thinks of her -- the way Kurusu sprawls like a boy sometimes, like she’s forgotten she’s wearing a skirt. Kurusu would look good in the Shujin boys’ uniform, would suit it, but then the sloppy little bitch somehow looks good in anything. Those bare summer legs, socks not quite even, her knees wide apart. Goromi likes to think about her fingers knuckle-deep in Kurusu, making her squirm and beg. Or-- no, Kurusu would never beg, just like Goromi wouldn’t. So instead, Kurusu with her eyes locked on Goromi’s, biting her bottom lip, fucking herself against her hand. Kurusu’s hand under Goromi’s shirt, under her bra, pinching her nipple until Goromi can’t even fucking stand it. Goromi’s other hand on Kurusu’s throat. Feeling the life of her throb under the skin, the thrill of knowing that at any point she could just… Mm. Yes. Excellent.

Goromi always feels empty and a bit sick with herself after orgasm, but it’s good until then. Sometimes she’s even thought about it for real: what it would be like to make Kurusu think they’re something approaching friends, or more. Finding something to talk about of middling importance, instead of vacillating between meaningless babble about the weather and accidentally spilling her guts. (She still can’t believe she told Kurusu about her mother. She’s such a dumb piece of shit sometimes.) Making a pass, a sweet one, all shy and G-rated. Oh, Akie-chan -- may I call you that? it just seems natural -- you’re so cute, so principled for a petty violent criminal, I just love how you don’t do anything to your hair including combing it. Might I perhaps someday hold your hand?

Well -- get a bit more sincere and perhaps it’ll work, as long as Goromi can hold back her vomit; but Goromi’s gotten pretty good at spouting saccharine garbage for credulous fools. She’d never actually go that far, anyway, it’s just something to think about. The infuriating thing, though, is that she just honestly can’t tell what Kurusu _does_ think of her. Sometimes it feels like Kurusu only remembers she exists when Goromi’s right in front of her, even though everyone in the damn _country_ thinks about her all the time. (Thinks about her, wants her, photoshops her face onto gravure idols, tries to follow her home when she doesn’t take a cab -- she wanted all this, but maybe she doesn’t anymore, maybe it’s getting a little old. Knowing that she’s secretly the scariest bitch in Tokyo isn’t nearly as reassuring as it used to be.) And even then, Kurusu never seems particularly impressed. Or intimidated, even. Just careful, and distant, and uninterested.

What a cunt. What a maddening, life-ruining, total fucking freak _cunt_. Goromi passed full-blown obsession months ago. She wants to rip Kurusu open with her fingernails.

And they’re _going_ to _see_ a _movie_.

* * *

Goromi gets to the theatre exactly fifteen minutes before the planned meeting time. Kurusu shows up four minutes late.

Kurusu’s street clothes are cute enough, basic fitted jeans and a white shirt with the logo of something obscure on it; very small town, Goromi thinks, though she’s not really sure what she’s basing that judgement on, now that she thinks about it. It’s just that she looks kind of like she got everything she’s wearing at the same chain department store. Goromi almost dressed up for this, decided against it because she didn’t want to look like she’s trying too hard; clearly the correct decision. She feels uncharacteristically self-conscious anyway, now, though, suddenly suspects her usual blouse-and-skirt combo isn’t neat and presentable so much as kind of dorky, but whatever. _Whatever_. At least she _brushed her hair_.

She shoots Kurusu a bright, confident smile as the other girl slouches her way into the lobby. “You didn’t bring your cat, did you?” Goromi says. A light joke, to make it clear that Kurusu isn’t all that sneaky, that Goromi isn’t an idiot.

Kurusu just looks at her and says, “You think I have a cat?”

Goromi feels her smile get a bit more fixed. Did she fuck up? Is this something she shouldn’t have noticed? But, no, no, she’s fine, and Kurusu doesn’t get to orchestrate things like this. She absolutely doesn’t get to try to put Goromi on the backfoot. “Don’t you?” Goromi says. “I’m sure I’ve seen it in your bag. Or are you one of those ‘cats have no owners but themselves’ people?”

Kurusu smiles, very slightly. “Depends on the cat. You wanna get popcorn?”

“It’s too expensive,” Goromi says automatically, noting Kurusu’s dedication to avoiding the subject of that unbearable talking animal. The bag seems very still. “Didn’t you buy something somewhere else?” Goromi has a job now, sure, but that doesn’t mean she’s _stupid_ with her money.

“No, it’s a movie,” Kurusu says, bafflingly. “I’m here for popcorn.” And she strides over to the snack line. Maybe she’s just richer than Goromi thought. Her family, based on Goromi’s entirely legal investigations, seems too mundane to be _really_ rich, but they clearly have money. Hence the relocation to Shujin, instead of being out on her ass like Goromi would have been after an assault conviction at fifteen. Kurusu’s one lucky bitch.

Goromi finds a spot by the wall to wait, looks at her phone. Work emails, something from Shido. Not anything _urgent_ from Shido, he’s just hovering over her (maybe she can pretend it’s paternal), so it’s not worth worrying about. And she doesn’t want to deal with it, so she looks at Kurusu instead, standing patiently in line, looking at her own phone. Goromi’s seen her reacting to the cat in subway stations -- not overtly, of course, just small nods and frowns, but none of that’s happening. And he (or she? it’s not even a real cat anyway, does it even have a gender?) seems _very_ chatty, so it’s probably not present.

The nape of Kurusu’s neck, the length of exposed skin between her hair and the collar of her shirt, is killing Goromi a little. She can see the slight ridge of Kurusu’s spine; the outline of her back bra strap, too, under the thin jersey of her t-shirt. It is excruciatingly unfair that she’s so attractive. It is _infuriating_.

Once Kurusu has her arms full of overpriced snacks, they head inside. After finding them relatively tolerable seats towards the back, Goromi makes what she intends to be casual small talk while they wait for the movie to start, gets very little helpful information in response. Did you have a good day? _Mm._ Have you seen this film before? _Uh-uh._ Is it supposed to be good? _Someone must think so, if they’re showing it again_ , Kurusu says, and then offers her some popcorn.

Talking to Kurusu makes Goromi feel so damn stupid that the pre-movie commercials are a genuine relief when they come on. Something about her makes Goromi feel about twelve years old, as if she’s still a homely little bastard orphan who falls over herself at the slightest hint of attention and just doesn’t know what to do about these _weird feelings about other girls_ she keeps having. Lord.

The movie turns out to be kind of tedious, too. It’s old, and foreign but not American, so she sort of expected that, but that doesn’t make it any more compelling. Though perhaps she’s just not in the mood for subtitles, or even a movie at all. Perhaps it’s hard to concentrate on _reading_ when Kurusu is there next to her. Kurusu, the shifting light of the film reflected on her face and in her ridiculous glasses, shovelling popcorn into her perfect little mouth. Her profile is so cute Goromi could puke.

Kurusu turns her head, just a little, before Goromi can adjust her gaze; is clearly looking back at her, though Goromi can’t quite see her eyes. Panicking won’t help, feeling caught won’t help, so Goromi just smiles at her, very casually, the way she smiles at fans, and then looks back up at the screen.

And then, about thirty seconds after that, something very cold touches Goromi’s knee, just below the hem of her skirt. She looks down.

The cold thing on Goromi’s knee is Kurusu’s _hand_.

Goromi doesn’t flinch anymore, trained herself out of it years ago, but it’s a close thing. Instead she feels herself freeze. She’s imagined this sort of thing before, but never quite this way, with _Kurusu_ making the first move, when until this week Kurusu had never shown any interest in Goromi whatsoever. And of course she’d never realised that Kurusu apparently has literal ice water in her veins, though that does explain a lot.

She should say something. Something funny, and charming, that indicates that this isn’t a big deal-- but that might make Kurusu come to her senses, or wake Goromi out of this baffling living dream, and her chest suddenly feels very tight, her palms slick. There is no _reason_ for this to be happening. Except there was no reason for Kurusu to invite her to a film either, obviously, and here they fucking are, and it’s not as if this can be an _accident_ , can it? She had to reach over the armrest to do this.

Kurusu’s fingers tap, lightly, in a sort of bored wave on Goromi’s knee. Goromi has spent rather a lot of time joking to herself about Kurusu’s sexual orientation but she never really thought she was _right_ , or at least never thought she’d have a chance to find out for herself -- but this is a pass, isn’t it? What else could it be if not Kurusu making a pass at her?

More movement from Kurusu, a lean in that makes every inch of Goromi’s skin prickle into gooseflesh, a hot mouth at her ear. “This okay?” She sounds like she might be a little amused. Entertained, in a way Goromi distinctly doesn’t care for. But Goromi has been known to overthink things on occasion, and if you look at the sheer facts of this situation, she’s the one being wanted, isn’t she? So she’s the one with the power, just like she’s always been in relation with the Phantom Thieves. She is _fine_. And there’s something about this situation that makes her head swim, something very different from the way men looking at her makes her feel.

She gives a soft murmur of affirmation, and the hand moves up a little higher, under Goromi’s skirt. When she glances to the side, Kurusu is looking up at the screen like before, like she’s doing nothing untoward at all, though she’s still leaned towards Goromi like she’s about to whisper something else. Higher, again. Kurusu’s hand has very definitely transitioned from being on Goromi’s knee to being on her thigh, and it’s all real, and Goromi’s lungs kind of won’t fill up completely but all she has to do is just sit here and-

“Excuse me a moment,” she says, smiling, and stands up, and pushes past Kurusu without waiting for her to move her legs out of the way.

* * *

A one-screen movie theatre, not surprisingly, has very limited traffic in its facilities while its one movie isn’t even at the halfway point, so no one witnesses Goromi’s pace go from _brisk_ to _basically running_ as she enters. It takes about three minutes of sitting in a bathroom stall for Goromi to feel like she’s getting enough air, which is fucking moronic.

It’s not that she’s scared. She is the scariest person in this building, in the whole damn city. It’s just unexpected, all of it; she wasn’t prepared. That’s all. And the thing is, too, that she doesn’t quite get what Kurusu wants, because she must want _something_. For Goromi to stop bothering the Thieves? That seems like a good hypothesis. _If you stop sticking your nose into our obviously criminal affairs I’ll finger you in public._ Kind of humorous, when you think of it like that. And it’s entirely possible to acquiesce to only half of that arrangement, especially since Kurusu doesn’t seem likely to explicitly propose it out loud.

Or perhaps it’s real. Perhaps she hasn’t been chatting up a brick wall this whole time, it only felt that way. It doesn’t matter, does it? No. And either way, the conclusion she keeps landing on is unfortunate: that she should have just sat it through to find out what was going on. Stupid. _Stupid_. She probably ruined the mood entirely.

Except when she leaves the stall, Kurusu is there, leaning her scrawny little ass against the sinks, looking at her phone. The restroom is still otherwise empty. Goromi feels a confused, undirected jolt of anger deep in her guts; plasters on her usual pleasantry and says, “One might begin to suspect you followed me here.”

“There’s only one girls’ bathroom,” Kurusu says, not looking up from her phone. “I’m waiting for you because we came here together and I’m being polite.”

“Ah,” Goromi says, washing her hands, though she didn’t actually piss or anything. The explanation sounds unlikely. Goromi doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, admittedly, but she’s fairly certain that even the kinds of girls who go to the bathroom in packs don’t do it in the middle of film screenings, and Kurusu is certainly not one of those, anyway. “That’s kind, but you shouldn’t have felt obliged.”

“I don’t,” Kurusu says, and then puts her phone into her back pocket, gives Goromi one of her blank little stares. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out.”

“‘Freaked me out’?” Goromi repeats, as if it’s absurd. “Not at all, Kurusu-san. I simply needed some air. And the film wasn’t to my taste, I’m afraid. But you should go watch the rest, if you were enjoying it. Seems a shame to spend money on a ticket and then waste time in the restroom with me.”

Kurusu just says, “Really.” Her expression is as flat and opaque as her tone. Goromi thinks of sharks, of expressionless aliens. Then Kurusu tilts her head, very slightly, and says, “You’re better than the movie, honestly.”

Weird thing to say. Fucking creepy thing to say, frankly -- she didn’t know Kurusu had it in her. She definitely shouldn’t be loving it, shouldn’t be fighting to keep her expression from cracking; absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about about how much time they have here before the crowd rushes in. “I could say the same thing about you,” she says, and thinks, _Fuck it_ , takes a step forward. Kurusu doesn’t flinch -- doesn’t know she _should_ flinch, Goromi supposes -- but rather just stands there, looking at her, her gaze flicking from Goromi’s eyes to her mouth and back up again. She smells like she wears men’s deodorant. Goromi says, though her mouth is a little dry, “You’re a very interesting person, you know.”

“I don’t hear that very often,” Kurusu says, and Goromi really can’t begin to figure out what level of irony the girl’s on right now, so she kisses her instead, right there by the sinks. It’s not as much of an event as Goromi thought her first kiss would be. Kurusu’s lips are chapped and dry, scratch slightly against Goromi’s own, until Kurusu’s mouth opens under hers, and _that’s_ \-- odd. Wet, strangely forceful. A stupid, stupid thing to be doing in public. But none of that’s bad at all, and the way Goromi’s insides are flipping is definitely more like arousal than it was before; so she takes Kurusu by the shoulders, pushes her up against the counter--

And then Kurusu pulls out of the kiss and turns her head and _laughs_ , and Goromi’s stomach drops. What did she expect? Of course this was all a joke to Kurusu, Kurusu has everything, she has real friends, she wouldn’t want _this_. (How dare she not want her, the absolute fucking bitch. Goromi is _famous_.) She stumbles back a step, tries to keep her expression level.

Kurusu looks at her, still smiling. “Are you upset?” she says, as if that’s not an entirely rational reaction. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I just--”

“This was a mistake,” Goromi says before Kurusu can finish her blatant lie, and smiles, and turns on her heel. “I have to get going. This has been an interesting afternoon, Kurusu-san. Goodbye.”

* * *

Shido says, in a cloud of smoke, “Remember this is only temporary, my dear.”

“I realise that, sir,” Goromi says, and shifts her weight. Shido thinks she’s a fucking idiot. Like she’s so upset about the plan, when she knew what the plan entailed, when neither of them would be here if not for Goromi’s work. And Shido’s connections, yes, true, but it’s _her work_. She’s the one whoring herself out for networks, nudging the police and the papers in the right directions, getting her hands dirty. She chose this, sure, she wanted this, but it’d be nice to get some goddamn recognition from time to time.

He looks at her. It’s always obvious, the way he looks at women. Goromi’s made herself into something worth looking at, so she really shouldn’t mind. He says, “You’ve been doing a good job dealing with all this. I’m impressed.”

She smiles. It’s not as fake a smile as she wishes it were, even though he keeps sneaking glances at her tits. “Thank you, sir. I’m not sure I agree.”

“You just need to be less of a bitch,” Shido says calmly, and looks her in the eye now. His tone indicates that he thinks this is very helpful advice. “You’re too aggressive. You understand?”

“Yes, sir. Completely.” Not a lie; she just didn’t need to be told.

She can feel him staring at her ass as she leaves, but he never does anything more than look, so it’s fine. She’s not even all that worried about what he might do anymore. For all she knows he wants -- despite the fact that he gets what he wants, as far too many people have learned -- Shido’s never once laid a finger on her. Isn’t that interesting? Like Goromi said: it’s nearly respect.

* * *

Goromi avoids Kurusu for a while after that. Or, well, she keeps an eye on her still, obviously, it’s basically one of her jobs, but she doesn’t talk to her, doesn’t show up at Leblanc for a while. Just school, work, various representations of shitty people’s subconsciouses. Shido.

It’s better to not have close connections. It’s easier. People work out that things are wrong with her, when they get too close; she knows this. She especially can’t afford for that to happen with Kurusu. (She tells Loki all this, heading home through the cleared-out levels of a Palace one night. He doesn’t say anything, perhaps because he already knew it, or because gods aren’t particularly interested in teen dyke dating drama. She’s not sure what she hoped for, anyway.) Still, she can’t stop thinking about it, of how strangely easy Kurusu was to kiss, of the smell of her; finds herself turning more than once to male strangers on the train because the piquant fucking odour of Old Spice or whatever the hell it is reminds her of Kurusu. Clearly a personal nadir, if Goromi’s personal nadir weren’t actually named Wakaba Isshiki.

One day, in early autumn, Kurusu finds her inside Shibuya Station. Their morning schedules don’t align nearly as much as Goromi used to pretend, of course, they only saw each other when Goromi decided they should; so it’s a fluke, probably, when Kurusu appears behind her in the bakery queue that afternoon.

Kurusu doesn’t say hello. She says, “So I found out how that movie ends.”

“I would assume they face various unanticipated hardships so it’s more interesting when the robbery succeeds,” Goromi says, only half-turning, as if this situation isn’t unexpected at all. Goromi really doesn’t give a shit about the film, but it beats talking about the rest of what happened that day, she supposes.

“Well, yeah, obviously. But then the getaway vehicle ends up hanging off a cliff because of the weight of the gold.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

Sounds unsatisfying. Goromi says, like the completely dull stick-in-the-mud she somehow ended up pretending to be, “A lesson, I suppose, about how crime doesn’t pay off. Although slightly tainted by how glamourised the rest of the thing is.”

“Huh,” Kurusu says. “Well, next time we go see a movie you can pick something about a righteous cop who was just about to retire.”

Oh, _barf_. “It might do you some good.” Kurusu breathes out sharply through her nose in something approaching a chuckle.

Goromi’s at the beginning of the line now. She was going to get something small, something that would only mildly ruin her diet, but frankly she deserves something decadent to get her through this, so she gets the biggest cream-filled bun they have, signs her name on a few napkins for the staff. Tries not to think about whether they’ll laugh about her and her appetite the minute she’s out of earshot. Kurusu, irritatingly, gets the same, and then does not leave, just stands there until Goromi says, “I wasn’t aware we’d agreed to try to repeat that. It didn’t go particularly well.”

“I thought it went pretty okay.” Kurusu lifts a foot, kicks at the ground a few times. Goromi’s seen her do this nervous tic from a distance, once or twice, while Kurusu was presumably plotting something criminal with her terrible little friends, but when she’s around Goromi she always gets steady, unnaturally calm and blank. Except now. “If I was misreading things,” Kurusu says eventually, “just tell me instead of avoiding me, and I’ll never bring it up again.”

Goromi would love to plead wide-eyed innocence, but of course she lost all chance of getting away with that when she kissed the bitch. It’s kind, perhaps, of Kurusu to not actually say as much explicitly. But she cannot do this, even if it’s just indulging her lust she _cannot do this_ , she can’t get bogged down in inconsequential connections when she’s so close to her goal, when she’d obliterate everything on behalf of that goal. She says, “I’m… I’m very busy, Kurusu-san. Between school and my job and the media, I have a lot going on.”

Kurusu says, her voice almost gentle, “And you don’t like feeling laughed at.”

Oh _fuck_ you. “I don’t like wasting my time,” she says, and shoots Kurusu her most sickly-sweet smile. “If I cared what people thought about me I’d never get anything done.”

“Well, still. I wasn’t laughing at you. I just thought the situation was funny.”

“And why did you think that?”

A pause. A shrug. “You’re really famous,” Kurusu says eventually. “And you spend your time talking to me. Or you used to, anyway. It’s… interesting. And weird.” Her eyes, dark and piercing, meet Goromi’s. “You like me,” she says. Neither a question nor an accusation. A simple declarative statement.

Goromi could stop this in its tracks, right now. She says, instead, “Of course I do. One doesn’t befriend someone they don’t like.” Ignoring the fact that she of course never successfully befriended Kurusu at all.

“You know what kind of liking I meant.”

“I also think you’re suspicious,” Goromi says lightly. “I believe I’ve made that fairly explicit.”

“Is that what you think,” Kurusu says. It’s a transparent bluff, surely, Kurusu doesn’t know a single fucking thing about Goromi’s actual intentions, but Kurusu’s expression is so opaque that it always makes her wonder. Then Kurusu says, “Look. Come over to my place tomorrow night if you want. Just before we close. I’ll be free, and we can figure this out.”

Goromi hesitates, and then says, “All right. It’s a date.”

* * *

She doesn’t go.

She stops by the night after, though. Kurusu’s “out”, which means she’s running around the metaverse in a stupid costume (not that Goromi can throw stones there) with her awful friends being preachy again. After considering it for a very long time, Goromi has decided she didn’t skip out on Kurusu’s little date night out of nerves, even if she did spend the day with her insides in knots; her insides were in knots because it was a transparent power play from Kurusu, trying to manipulate Goromi into doing whatever it is Kurusu wants. Pathetic. So she is going to take control back. She is going to show up when _she_ wants to. Petty, perhaps, but who gives a damn.

When Kurusu arrives at Leblanc, she’s walking like she has weights strapped to her shoes, like her bag is full of rocks instead of a cat. She looks at Goromi, sitting at the bar drinking decaf, and says, wearily, “We close in like two minutes.”

“I know,” Goromi says. “I missed our appointment. I thought we could make it up.” Goromi had consciously not texted. “What were you doing this evening?” she asks, bright and innocent. “You look awfully tired.”

“I am tired,” Kurusu says, and walks directly past her, towards the stairs. “Goodnight.”

* * *

Goromi comes back the night after that. Kurusu is doing homework at a booth, though they haven’t closed quite yet; she’s wearing an apron over street clothes. Sojiro Sakura isn’t there at all. Goromi strides in as confidently as she can and says, “Is this a better time?”

“You could have asked that in a text,” Kurusu says. The cat is sitting on the table next to her, huddled up in a loaf, its limbs barely visible; it looks up at her, haughtily, although maybe that’s just the default face all cats wear. “Generally you’re supposed to make plans _before_ you show up at someone’s place. You get that, right?”

“May I have a cup of coffee?” Goromi chirps instead of actually replying. “You are still open, aren’t you? I’m a customer.”

Kurusu gives her a very long look. Then she says, “What do you want, Akechi? What are you after? If you want to talk, then talk to me, and if you don’t then leave. Stop playing weirdass games.”

That takes Goromi aback for a second. Perhaps she should… tone herself down. Perhaps it’s unfair, that Kurusu was apparently genuinely trying to connect with her, despite all the reasons she shouldn’t. (This explanation is starting to seem a lot more likely than anything else, if one examines Kurusu’s recent behaviour through an objective lens. Right?) Goromi says, “I apologise. I seem to have caught you in a bad mood.” That gets a flat stare, so she adds, “I _would_ like to talk.” Ideally upstairs, rather than in front of that _creature_ , but she certainly can’t say that out loud.

“Okay,” Kurusu says, and stands without touching her school things. “Come on.”

Thank god, Goromi thinks, they’re both on the same page - except - what is she _doing_ , why is she here, why is she on this page to begin with? Either they’re going to talk about their fucking feelings or she’s about to slut it up with her second-worst enemy. Neither of those things seem appetising at the moment, though she spent all day thinking about the latter, may have considered the former more than she likes to admit as well.

She could leave. She could nip this in the goddamn bud, go back to just doing her job like normal.

She follows Kurusu up to the attic instead. It’s a hell of a sight - tiny, full of mismatched furniture, parts of it obviously still in use as a storage space, and tacky knick-knacks from every corner of the city lovingly arranged on the shelves. (It is _insane_ that the person ruining Goromi’s life is just a fucking country girl _tourist_.) There’s a game console that has to be a solid decade older than them, a bed that appears to be no more than a cheap futon propped up by crates. And then there’s the Rise Kujikawa poster, which is such a display of fearless dykery that Goromi feels intensely embarrassed on her behalf. Don’t her friends care? Or her middle-aged landlord?

Kurusu says, “You can have that poster if you want, I haven’t actually seen the movie. I just got it for free.”

Goromi has too successful a poker face for her own good, clearly, if her stunned silence reads as genuine interest. She forces a smile, says, “Oh no, it’d ruin my decoration scheme. Thank you, though. It’s very… are you a fan?”

“Nah,” Kurusu says, giving it a very uninterested look, as if she’s never really thought about it before. Then she turns to Goromi and says, “So do you have your own place?”

“It comes with having a job,” Goromi says, which is true, technically. The apartment came with her _other_ job, but not the point. “What exactly is it we’re doing here, Kurusu-san?”

“You don’t have to be so polite,” Kurusu says, and steps towards Goromi, looking very serious. Her eyelashes are so _long_ , even on the bottom, even though Kurusu obviously isn’t wearing a scrap of mascara. Kurusu says, “We’re here because you like me. Right?”

“We did establish that,” Goromi says, though the way Kurusu says it makes her intensely uncomfortable, like Kurusu thinks she’s bestowing some sort of favour upon Goromi with her angelic presence. Goromi’s heart is going faster than it did last time she killed someone. She feels like she’s pulsing with it, feels like if she breathes too hard she’ll wake up from this stupid horny dream she’s having -- though she was ready for this, wasn’t she? There’s nothing to be frightened of, they already fucking kissed. She’s winning, if Kurusu wants this. She has the upper hand entirely.

Kurusu leans in, when Goromi doesn’t, puts a hand on Goromi’s waist, the other on her cheek, like ice. The kiss this time is very gentle, lingering. Then she says, “Did you actually want to talk?”

Goromi’s voice comes out near a whisper. “Not particularly.”

A small huff, like the beginning of a laugh. “Me neither.”

This is good, Goromi decides, as Kurusu kisses her again. This is what Goromi wanted. She is thrilled to pieces about losing her virginity while she can, honestly, even though it’s with a girl so it obviously doesn’t actually count, and the most baffling girl she’s ever met, to boot. Whose tongue is in Goromi’s mouth, _again_ , so casually, and who is walking them both towards the thing that apparently passes for a bed in Kurusu’s miserable little life-- honestly, how can her friends know about this, that she’s a disgraced criminal who didn’t even have the sense to not get caught and now _lives in an attic_ , and still all be happily friends with her? Goromi’s never met anyone that forgiving in her entire life, and Kurusu’s been practically _collecting_ them since the day she arrived in town. It’s so fucking unfair she could scream.

She needs to get it together. She needs to stop letting Kurusu _literally_ push her around. She pulls away from Kurusu, as politely as she can; gives her an automatic smile, tries to take a deep breath without it being particularly visible, sits down as daintily as possible on the edge of the bed. Kurusu just watches her, the way she does. Like she knows, somehow, that Goromi is something she needs to watch.

Or perhaps it’s just genuine concern, because, Goromi realises when she looks down at her folded hands, she’s shaking. She’s been steady when she rips the sanity from people’s hearts, when she goes on live televison and spouts utter bullshit in front of the entire nation, when she even fucking _flirts with her father_ , and now she’s shaking. Terrific.

Kurusu sits down next to her, a platonic gap between them. After a long silence, she says, very quietly, “I didn’t even know you could get nervous.”

Goromi can’t say _I’m not fucking nervous,_ can’t even widen her eyes and simper, _Your criminal past just makes me so uncomfortable_ because she’s not actually supposed to know Kurusu’s a criminal. She says, because there’s nothing else, because keeping lies straight is easier if you let pieces of the truth through sometimes: “I’ve just never done this before.”

“Me neither,” Kurusu says, amazingly, though surely she’s catnip to every lezzie in Tokyo and most of the more clueless straight boys, and puts her hand on top of Goromi’s. “It’s cool. We’ll figure it out.”

They do. All that build-up, and then it just happens. In films -- dramatic film, not pornography -- it always looks as if people lose control of themselves, as if their bodies know exactly what to do. There are moments like that, but only brief ones, and they’re all much closer to violence than perhaps they ought to be. The whole thing, in fact, is more a strange little wrestling match with their hands in each other’s underwear than anything else; and still Goromi finds herself overthinking the majority of her movements, trying to stay engaged and pretty and wantable even in these entirely bizarre circumstances, and occasionally thinking as if from a distance, _She’s_ letting _me be on top, isn’t she?_

Still, it’s not bad. Goromi doesn’t reach any kind of climax at all, which fucking figures, but Kurusu either does or is a tremendous actress, and that’s unexpectedly very satisfying to witness. Her face crumples into something ugly when it happens, like she doesn’t give a damn what she looks like, her mouth open wide in a silent gasp, her whole body trembling; and then she relaxes, and looks up into Goromi’s eyes, back to that solemn, opaque, unnerving interest. She sees something, Goromi thinks, disconcerted, and pushes her expression back to neutral and looks away.

They don’t say anything afterwards, at first, as they both pull their clothes on. Goromi thinks again of the way Kurusu keeps saying _You like me_ , as if it were an evident fact. No interest of her own, no investment. “Do you like me?” she says, as detachedly as she can, and regrets it immediately anyway. It had sounded very bold in her head, like a truth-seeker who won’t beat around the bush when it comes to difficult questions, but in practice made her sound more like an insecure six-year-old than anything else.

Kurusu is silent for a moment, yanking her jeans back up with very little concern for her own dignity. Her cheeks are still bright pink, her lips flushed like they’ve been painted, but her expression is as unmoved as ever. Then she says, “I don’t really know you, Akechi. No offense. It’s just that… you don’t really act like a person most of the time. Even when you talk about real things, it’s like you’re a million miles away.”

“Oh,” Goromi says.

“I liked what we just did. Uh, obviously. And I like spending time with you. I think.” She leans back on her palms, looks at Goromi very seriously through her hair, which is now even more stupid-looking than usual. Says, “I’m a sucker for a pretty girl who follows me around, I guess.”

It stings, of course, but also -- Goromi appreciates the honesty. Not many people are honest with her these days, besides her father and perhaps the creeps on the subway who think she wants to know that she’s a major feature of their masturbation fantasies. Perhaps this is the way it all ought to be, if she’s going to pursue this ridiculous situation with her enemy -- perhaps it’s the most comfortable option, given where this is inevitably heading. Being more genuine would just make things harder for both of them.

She says, with a slight smile, “You think I follow you? Don’t be ridiculous. You out-of-towners always overestimate the size of this city.” She stands, adjusts her skirt, and adds, “I’m not a particularly intimate person, I’m afraid. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.”

“Didn’t say it did,” Kurusu says. “I was just answering your question.” She tilts her head, looks up at Goromi. “You wanna do this again sometime?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, dude.” Goromi has absolutely _never_ been called ‘dude’ before, feels her eyes go wide in bewilderment. Kurusu just smiles, and there’s something so _intoxicating_ about that smirk that Goromi feels something similar spread across her own face, something she can barely wrench back into symmetry. “Why not?” Kurusu says, and Goromi can’t even bring herself to argue.

* * *

Sometimes Goromi watches straight porn on her phone with a strange sort of clinical intensity. It feels like research: this is what they want, all those men who think they’re orchestrating your life; this is what they think you should be, this mewling, pathetic _thing_. They want you to squeal like you didn’t even know you had a pussy until they pointed it out to you, to say no and yes like they mean the same thing. This is what your father sees you as. Don’t forget it for a second.

She wants his blood on her teeth. She is going to destroy him. Everyone else who might get in the way is a stepping stone, even the Phantom Thieves. _Especially_ the Phantom Thieves. And goddamn Kurusu and her perfect little tits and her fucking ridiculous hair is just a passing distraction, something that should have no more importance than a jerk-off fantasy.

Goromi doesn’t resent the porn actresses, as they feign (or don’t feign) distress, ambivalence, eventual moaning surrender. You do what you have to do to get by in this world; no amount of condescending pearl-clutching can change that, and she understands that as well as they must. She even feels, sometimes, as if they could be friends. Which is perhaps similar to how people all over the country feel as if they could be _her_ friend, based on a version of her they’ve constructed. That she’s helped them construct. Funny. She still thinks she’s right, though.

And sometimes it’s hot, too, she’s not going to lie. Sometimes it’s disgusting, makes her feel sick with herself. Sometimes both things get wound together. It’s not that different from how she feels when it comes to Kurusu.

(Kurusu will die soon. Goromi knows that for certain now, though she’d been half-expecting it for months, since her father only ever solves problems by getting rid of them in one way or another. So it goes. Perhaps it’ll even be fun; at the very least Goromi will certainly be free of the anticipation of the act, which is always the worst part, far worse than the adrenaline comedown afterwards or the occasional unpleasant dreams. This job of hers isn’t that different from exams, Goromi has noticed, in the way it makes her feel. Sometimes she wishes she had someone to tell that to, so they could have a laugh about how bizarre it is. She once almost told her father.)

And yet: it happens again, their weird little unromantic tryst. Happens enough that it becomes regular, something to schedule, though Goromi hasn’t had free time in her life since before her seventeenth birthday; she uses her professional obligations as an excuse to skip school, gets her black mask hours in then, just for some extra time with Kurusu. She does this more than once. Sloppy, but the public loves her again, which means her school loves her, which means it’s not a problem -- and besides, her grades were only ever a means to an end, and no one would ever think to compare the timelines for psychotic breaks and her academic absences. It’s fine. All successful people have to deal with stress and time management, and if she tries hard enough she can spin this as a form of work to herself.

Not that she’s gotten a single scrap of useful intel out of it so far. But she _might_.

She falls asleep in Kurusu’s bed, one time, not long after she invites herself along into Niijima’s Palace for the first time. An accident. Goromi isn’t normally the kind of person who falls asleep by accident, but she’s practically manic with sleep deprivation, that day, hangs around too late at Kurusu’s place knowing full well her mood will crash any minute. She talks Kurusu’s ear off the whole time they’re hooking up, her sentences running into each other or trailing off into nothing, rambling meaninglessly about the Phantom-Thief-appropriate mundanities that have happened this week while Kurusu’s hand is under her skirt; and then she comes with an unexpected intensity, and for a horrifying second feels like she’s about to burst into tears. It passes after a moment, fortunately, so she just lies there on the bed instead, pulls her underwear back up.

Above her, Kurusu licks her own fingers, long and leisurely, which ought to be disgusting but is in fact the best thing Goromi has ever seen in her life, and says, “When’s the last time you slept, Akechi?” It’s the first thing she’s said in a while.

Goromi takes a moment to think. “Wednesday,” she decides eventually. It’s Friday.

“Well, that’s dumb,” Kurusu says, and wipes her fingers mostly clean with a tissue and then lies down next to her, drapes her arm around Goromi’s shoulders. This is new. They kiss and they fuck but they don’t _cuddle_ , even now, when she’s an honest-to-god counterfeit Phantom Thief. Still. It’s nice to make an exception, and Goromi’s too punch-drunk with exhaustion to make a fuss about it. _I win_ , Goromi thinks without much enthusiasm. Shido’s been getting pretty testy lately and all the real cops at the precinct definitely hate her just like Sae-san and the Phantom Thieves do and sometimes she’s pretty sure she’s the second-worst person in the world, but this definitely counts as winning.

She rolls over, rests her head on top of Kurusu’s bony little chest. Says, “Joker?” She ought to have used Kurusu’s real name, but whatever, at least she didn’t go for _Hey, you weird criminal dyke_ (though Kurusu commented in passing a few weeks ago that she’s actually bisexual, a claim Goromi is still struggling to process). Her eyes feel heavy. She can feel herself moving with Kurusu’s breaths, long and slow.

“Crow,” Kurusu says.

“This is the most uncomfortable bed I’ve ever been in, and I used to live in an _orphanage_.”

“Yeah,” Kurusu agrees solemnly, and pats her on the back. “It’s pretty bad.”

Goromi will miss her. Not that they know each other, exactly, even now -- she honestly learned much more about Kurusu from bullying her way into the Phantom Thieves than she has from giving her orgasms for a few months, which is pretty sad. But… but still, Goromi knows things about her that others don’t, now: the way her legs shake while she’s getting off, if you find the right spots; the way she sometimes makes the tiniest noises too, just in her throat, involuntary little squeaks that she never even seems embarrassed of, afterwards. There are other things she’ll miss, too -- her sneaky little grin, her unfunny deadpan jokes. The way she becomes an entirely different person when she fights, as if she were born for this, the way Goromi feels she herself must have been, too.

It’s a shame. Kurusu never did anything wrong, really, besides be a pain in the ass. In another timeline, one where Goromi’s life had never become what it is, who knows where this could have gone?

She looks up at Kurusu, those sharp dark eyes, that button nose that wrinkles sometimes when she smiles. Goromi can feel sleep pressing at her, almost physically pushing her down like she’s taken diphenhydramine, but the words spill out of her anyway: “Thank you for this. For being with me. It’s been really nice.”

“Oh,” she hears Kurusu say. She sounds very sad, all of a sudden, though later Goromi will discount this as an artefact of her own exhausted brain, since Kurusu barely has any inflection in her voice to begin with. Her own sentimental projection; nothing else. “I’m glad.”

When Goromi wakes up -- though she hadn’t even felt herself fall asleep -- Kurusu is at her desk, quietly doing what looks like schoolwork. It is, Goromi realises, checking her watch, far later in the evening than it ought to be, late enough that she feels suddenly sick at the thought of the responsibilities she’s been ignoring. She has a media appearance tomorrow, and an essay she needs to finish about a novel she didn’t have time to read, and after _that_ there’s work for her father and work for the Phantom Thieves, other people’s endless fucking miserable work, though it’s going to be worth it soon, it’s bound to be, it has to be--

“You can stay here if you want,” Kurusu says over her shoulder as Goromi bounds to her feet. “It’s kind of late.”

“I can’t,” Goromi says, but the words came out harsher than they should have, a thoughtless snarl. Shit. She beams at Kurusu reflexively, forces the panic out of her expression, corrects herself: “I appreciate the offer, but I really ought to get home. I’ll see you soon, yes?”

“Of course,” Kurusu says, but she’s frowning slightly, as if there’s something else she wants to say. It takes until Goromi reaches the top of the stairs for her to spit it out, uncharacteristically hesitant: “Is… everything okay with you?”

Goromi used to want someone to ask her something like that so badly. Of course it comes _now_ , when all the pieces are in place, when one wrong word might destroy everything she’s built. This is what she gets for being so fucking _indulgent_. And even if things weren’t the way they are, Kurusu would never understand any of this, that sometimes you need to compromise your sweet little ideals if you want to get anything done. That sometimes the only justice you can find is bloody, that you have to wade through shit to get there, that it will still be worth it. That the world will rebalance after them all, when the vigilantes and the conspiracy and Goromi are gone and new corruption oozes in to take their place. The world has always been like this. It’s not Goromi’s fault that this poor stupid bitch thought she could fix it.

“Of course I’m okay,” Goromi says. Her face hurts from smiling. “Why wouldn’t I be? I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

* * *

And then she goes through with it. Everything was put into place months ago, a plan she’d concocted with her father like something approaching partners, though she made sure he thought it was mostly his idea. All that’s left is to play her part.

So she says the line she’d practised, points the gun; wonders, almost academically, what Kurusu is thinking now that she knows what Goromi is, as she stares at her, mute and pale and visibly shocked. Goromi thinks of what men would do with a high school girl in a locked room -- what they must have done -- and looks at the way Kurusu’s face is swollen and purple, and tells herself, _You’re doing her a favour_. (Goromi put Kurusu here in the first place.) Pulls the trigger.

It might as well not even be real, it’s so easy. It makes Goromi think a little of popping a water balloon -- who knew a human head contained so much liquid? -- and her hands are shaking and her stomach hurts, yes, but it’s still just as easy as all the rest were. She did it. She won.

That’s it.

Soon she will be violently sick in a subway station bathroom stall, vomit until her eyes water, but for now she just laughs, the way she never laughs when people can hear her, laughs so hard she doubles over. Kurusu is just a _thing_ now, an empty lump of flesh in a school uniform, and Goromi caused that. Fuck. _Fuck_. And now she won’t get in her way ever again, won’t-- she won’t--

“You really should have known better,” she tells the corpse that used to be Kurusu through her own laughter, which sounds like it’s coming from some wild creature now, not an ounce of humour in it at all, and puts the gun in Kurusu’s hand. What else is there to do?


End file.
